


Unrequited

by aqueentorattlestars



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Marriage, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:38:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqueentorattlestars/pseuds/aqueentorattlestars
Summary: Lucien deals with his emotions on Elain’s wedding day in the only way he knows how to.





	Unrequited

_Three years of his life had been given to prepping this garden. Near daily treks made there throughout the summer. It was the most love he had poured into something in centuries. His dedication to those flowers went beyond just wanting it to look pretty. He needed it to be perfect for her._  
  
Three years he had planned out this gift. With the hope that this would be the avenue he could take to draw closer to his beloved. To show her he could be what she needed—be a male that she could love despite his shortcomings.   
   
Hope had crackled in his crippled heart for the first time in centuries when Elain had agreed to come see the surprise that he had for her. Excitement thrummed in his veins when he untied the blindfold, revealing the wonderland he had crafted for her. 

_His eyes never left her face as he watched her step forward. The male’s heart beat thick with emotion when he watched his mate spin around slowly, hands outstretched to brush against the petals. Doe-brown eyes brimmed with tears. Tears—he thought—of happiness for this birthday gift._

_When Elain turned back around to face him, Lucien realized those had not been tears of joy._

_  
Hope guttered out and Lucien was left scrabbling for what he had done wrong. An insult had been done unto Elain—he had done something horribly_ wrong _for her to have looked at him with such…_  
  
In his centuries of life, Lucien could not find the word to describe the way Elain looked at him.

 _“Why did you do this?”  she asked, bottom lip trembling as she gestured an accusing hand towards the offending flowers, “Why? Why would you do this?”  
  
Lucien swallowed down the bile in his mouth, “I did not mean to upset you. Please, Elain… I-I thought you would want a quiet place…”  
  
Full lips pressed into a frown, her sweet voice sharp with questions, “Are you trying to trick me into loving you? I cannot be bought with flowers, Lucien… All I wanted from you was for you to _ talk _to me like a person. I wanted you to see me for me. But you stayed away—you were always away, you were always at a distance. What gives you the right to do this?”_  
  
She left no room for him to answer before she pushed on, “It’s too late. Whatever it is that you’re trying to do, Lucien… It’s too late—” Each word was a dagger to his soul, “—I’m in love with Azriel, Lucien.” Her voice softened at seeing the anguish in the male’s face, “I have been for years. He… He asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

 _It was the killing blow._  
  
Defeated and with nothing left, he watched as the fawn turned from the fox for the final time. 

_  
_ Seven months and the wound Elain had dealt him was just as raw as the day it had happened.  Worse today.  
  
He had avoided the House of Wind as much has he could over the past fortnight. Anger and heartache drove him away from the scene of where so much happiness was unfolding. Feyre, Elain, and Morrigan had been a frenzy of laughter and chatter as they prepped for the wedding.   
  
Lucien, in all his jealousy and wounded pride, could not _handle_ seeing her so blissfully happy. Not when he felt the last shards of his heart burn into nothing. Truly, he would never wish for Elain to be anything but happy—even if it meant losing his mate. Yet, still, it was too much for him to stand and watch as the shadow married the rose.

It was before dawn that the son of no court retreated to the garden he had once cherished.  
  
A mournful roar ripped from the male’s throat—letting loose the last vestiges of hope he had harbored in his soul. Hope that Elain would change her mind before this day. Hope that she would come to his arms, wanting to taste the depths of his love for her.  
  
It did not come.  
His love would be forever unrequited.

Lucien Vanserra would never have the happiness he craved.  
Shuddering at the darkness that ate at his soul, Lucien let go of the control. Fire burned through the clearing. Hungrily, it gobbled up lovely blooms of every color in delighted greed. Autumn fire burned and burned until nothing was left but ash and dust.

The smoldering remains of the wildfire ebbed out in the afternoon sun. Ash eddied in the wind, carrying the blackened petals of roses and lilacs away from what remained of the garden. A garden he had planted; so meticulous in his selection of flowers, choosing those that he knew Elain to be most fond of. He had wanted it to be perfect. A sanctuary for a fawn caught in the deadly dance of warriors and politicians.  
  
Now he just wanted it obliterated from existence.  
She had her sanctuary in the arms of the Illyrian—not some ridiculous garden.

Wisps of smoke wafted through his nostrils, working its shapeless fingers deep down into his lungs as he crashed down to his knees in defeat. Sobs racked through his slumped frame while his fists dug into the earth beneath.

“Elain, _Elain_ ,” his voice cracked over her name.   
  
Had she seen this in her visions?  
Saw what he would be reduced down to—a sobbing child in the middle of ruin—and decided he was beneath her?  
  
Another blast of fire shot forth from his hands, fizzing out in a trail of smoke when Lucien doubled over. Soot streaked down his face when he pressed his head into the still-warm ground.  
  
_She was lost to him._  
Elain Archeron would have become the Shadowsinger’s wife by now.  
Their future bright and shining…

While Lucien was left to a lifetime of sorrow unimaginable.

Prostrate on the ground, he could not tell how much time had passed. Only that it did not matter.   
  
After today, he would steal away on any assignment that led he far, far away from the Night Court. There was nothing left for him here.  
  
His bones creaked when Lucien had finally begun to move. He was ready to dive into the casks of wine he had brought with him.  
  
Turning to where he had left the prized liquid, he froze.

  
She was a vision in her dress—a flower far more beautiful than any Prythian had seen before.   
  
Tears marred her visage when Elain whispered, “I couldn’t do it.”

  



End file.
